The Art of Stealing and Surprise
by KrisEleven
Summary: Written for the February TPE: Writing Challenges forum. Jon had always found sparring with George a particularly frustrating activity. Tonight would be more than a small surprise, for both of them.


A/N This was written for March's challenge at the TPE: Writing Challenges forum, so you can blame Sweet Sassy Sarah for the concept. Please point out any mistakes or awkwardness you find.

This takes place at some point during the early Song of the Lioness books, but I don't know when. This is because I only own the second book and don't read it often, at that. With that said, much of the circumstances of this fic are directly influenced by a recent Ficship finalist (and one of my absolute favourite stories on this site) Judging Distances by Lady Jaida. Go read it. You will love her too.

One last note, this story was nominated into the Summer 2011 Ficship Competitions! If you enjoy it, please go onto the forums and vote for me. I would really appreciate the support.

Vote here: forum (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/topic/54838/44835397/1/

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They practiced in the empty corridor above the Dancing Dove's common room, blades flashing in the light of the lantern as they danced to the sounds of their panting breath and George's occasional instructions. Jon was always surprised at how different fighting could be when you were bare of armour and had only your fists or short blades to protect you. It was unlike anything he had been trained in... perhaps why he had yet to gain the upper hand on his opponent in the months he had been attending these late-night practices.

Finally – just as Jon's leg muscles began to tremor with exhaustion – George dodged to the side to avoid a fist Jon had been aiming at the older man's ribcage. Twisting sharply, George snapped his elbow up onto the sensitive bones of Jon's wrist, knocking his blade from his grip. As the knife clattered across the floor, Jon held still, looking down his nose at the knife's edge held against his chest.

George, breathing hard with sweat glistening on his face, grinned broadly as he looked over the young prince. "Mayhap you'll surprise me one day, Johnny boy, but not tonight."

Jon shrugged, irritable with his loss as he fetched his knife from the floor. "I am improving," he said defensively, aware of how he wanted to impress his sparring partner. "And I have training. The same can't be said for you, Cooper."

"I've won ten matches out of ten, Princeling," George said, grinning. "The same can't be said of you." Jon's words in his Lower City accent sounded distinctly mocking.

After fetching his knife, Jon walked away from George and towards the staircase without a word. Losing well had never been a strong suit of his – not that he had much experience with it – but there was something else about this arrangement that got under his skin. He thought he heard a low chuckle as he walked down the staircase in the dark. Jon knew his way through the inn well enough after his visits here with Alanna during the day, and his evening training sessions over the past month, but was surprised to find no lights in the main room.

"It's nigh on morning," George confirmed. Jon almost jumped; he hadn't realized the other man was so close. As they walked through the quiet hall, nodding to those still there (the Dove was never truly quiet), George asked when he could expect the next visit.

Jon pushed the doors open, holding them as George followed him out into the alley behind the inn. The sky was taking on that blue tint of almost-morning but the air was still held the coolness of a summer night. "I don't know if I'll be able to return any time soon," Jon said, his pride still smarting. "I _do_ have other responsibilities."

"Don't be goin' all noble on me," George said. Jon hadn't noticed the light mist that was falling until he watched the droplets collect on George's eyelashes. "You've come too far to be throwin' our mutual respect away because of some –" George blinked and then swiped one hand across his eyes, wiping away the mist's moisture.

Jon took the opportunity, unsheathing his knife and lunging forward in one motion.

"_Never take your eyes from your opponent and _never_ assume a fight's done_," _George had said in their first practice together, weeks ago. "We don't have chivalry in the Lower City, lad. Here, the fight's only done when the other can't pick up a blade; and sometimes not then."_

George must have heard Jon's movement and twisted, using his momentum to gain the upper hand. Jon felt himself slide past George, his feet slipping on the alley's mist-slick stone as his knife-arm was grabbed and twisted forward, his elbow protesting loudly at the awkward angle. Jon refused to drop the knife and jerked his knee up in what would have been a _very _unchivalrous move had it connected. Instead, George caught the knee on his thigh and moved in closer, crowding Jon against the Dove's wall, making another leg attack impossible.

Jon's right arm was still caught in a twist, and his left was pinned behind his back; he didn't even remember that happening, the other man had moved so fast. For the first time, the prince appreciated that this wasn't a training master he was learning from, or a rival in the palace with codes of honour and the protection of nobility, and even though George was smiling there was something dangerous there that sent a chill crawling from the back of Jon's neck down his arms.

"Well!" George laughed, his face close enough to Jon's that he felt George's breath on his cheek as he spoke. "It's as well for me that I'm not such an old man yet or you'd be King of the Court of the Rouge as well as Tortall, soon enough. I don't know that I'll be able to stand the competition, lad."

"Don't patronise me, Cooper," Jon growled.

"I'm not." His grin was gone as George looked steadily into Jon's eyes. "Your noble airs are annoyin' as grit in breeches, Jon, but I do have respect for your brand of stubbornness. Why do you think I put up with you two nights outta ten?"

"Because you're an insufferable know-it-all who liked to win."

"Because _you're _a worthy man to teach. Because I have no desire to see you get hurt one day because you don't have the skills I can teach you. Because I like you, your Royal Highness, and would rather you alive than dead..." He paused. "And I would rather you here than anywhere else."

Jon took a deep breath. He was going to say something back, something about the respect he had for George's strength of characters. Something about how he wanted to win so badly in their practices not because of his pride, but because he didn't want to do anything but impress his friend. Perhaps tell him how much Jon appreciated how there were no expectations of being Prince Jonathan when he was here. He could be Jon, no masks, and that was terrifying, in a way, but – more than that – it was exhilarating.

He opened his mouth to explain, but instead he leaned forward to breach the inch of space that separated them and pushed his lips against George's.

They were pressed together against the wall already because of Jon's spectacular failure at a stealthy attack, and Jon felt George jump with surprise a moment before he relaxed and his lips moved against Jon's. Jon didn't realize that his hand had been released, he was so intent on finding the rhythm of their kiss, but he must have dropped the knife he was holding because his hands were buried in George's hair, pulling the other man's face closer.

George pulled away first. "Well, now... When I said you couldn't surprise me, I hadn't been thinkin' of _that_," George said, his usually calm voice touched by a hint of breathlessness. "You've been learnin' bad habits, Johnny, from our thieves down here if you're goin' to start stealin' kisses."

"A thief lecturing me on stealing? I'd think you'd be proud."

"It's a dangerous game."

"What do you mean?"

"Stealin' kisses from the King of the Rogues..." George leaned forward and pressed his lips against Jon's. Their lips parted and tongues met as Jon felt George's hand on the back of his neck as the other travelled down his ribcage. They both panted unsteady when they parted. "You know, he just might steal some back."

Jon matched George's grin before they leaned together again.

The stolen kisses behind the Dove were just the start.

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A/N Yes, this was a romantic challenge. Didn't I mention that? :D Reviews are much appreciated!


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